


Being Afraid

by callmetotty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Captivity, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Major Character Injury, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmetotty/pseuds/callmetotty
Summary: It was slow motion. A pause, an exhale of breath from thin lips pulled over a gaunt, pale face. The sudden rush of air blew upward, making platinum blonde hair fly as if they were caught in a breeze. As his neck craned behind him, she lost track of his eyes—of the face of hesitation. His head nodded, sharp and quick at his parents behind him. Hermione let her eyes slide close—darkness encasing her, waiting for words clear enough to shatter glass."Crucio!"Is this what it meant to be a hero?





	1. Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I started working on quiet a number of years ago. I was in a really dark place when I started writing this and while I am in a better place now, I want to finish this story. Graphic depictions of violence and torture. This is a very slow burn dramione story, so if you like a quick fix this might not be the story for you. Any comments or suggestions are appreciated!

It is commonplace wisdom that, in your last moments your life flashes before your eyes. She had always assumed that these would be your best memories—Harry winning the Quidditch Cup. Ron saying her name in the Hospital Wing. Her mother and father giving her the first book she ever owned for her third birthday. Her trip to France. Her first kiss with Krum.

She never imagined it would be a solitary moment. It wouldn't have occurred to her that it would be Neville Longbottom's face.

_Neville's face was long, his thin lips curving upward into a forced smile. Tears spilled out of his large, round eyes and dripped into his open palm. In his fingers he rolled around the gum wrapper. Pink in color, it looked strangely like a muggle Double Bubble Gum wrapper. "Thanks Mum." Neville's mother hardly registered his response. For all the reaction she gave him, you could assume Neville was merely a caretaker employed by Saint Mungo's. She looked through her son with a glazed expression, as if he was glass. Neville gazed down at the wrapper, rolling it around in his hand before he pocketed it. You would have thought it was a galleon, the care he took with that wrapper._

That moment had touched a part of her that she didn't realize existed. How could you be driven so mad that you forget your son's face? That you stare at him as if he was empty space? Until that point, Hermione never understood the effects of war. She was well read on the subject, sure. But she had only experienced the real horror of war second hand. Harry had been the one to see Cedric die, not her. He had witnessed the rise of Voldemort. He had faced danger time after time. Yes, she played her part. But until she saw Alice Longbottom tilt her head and hand her son a wrapper much like you would a stranger, she didn't understand it at all.

Hermione's head lulled, her eyes following the stream of her ruby red blood against the black and white marbled floor of the Malfoy Manor. It was as if the entire world was dulled around her. Bellatrix Lestrange's high pitched tone was so low it was if she was muffled. She could never tell what was coming next: A long, deep cut with her enchanted blade or another round of the Cruciatus Curse. Her own scream rang in her ears like a high pitched ring. She felt out of body, only she felt every ounce of pain. Curse after curse flew at her, making her feel like nothing more than a pile of rags; a pile of rags that could only feel the indescribable pain that radiated on every inch of her body. Even her finger nails throbbed from the inescapable torture. Her wand had been taken from her; scattered half way across the room; she wasn't able to lift her head to meet her captor's eyes let alone summon enough energy to grasp her wand for salvation. She would die here, her only friend her own reflection that bounced off the Malfoy Manor marble floor.

If she by a miracle lived she would be horribly scared. She doubted it though; her wrists would bleed out long before she could even make it out the dining room doors. She didn't have to look to know what Bellatrix scrawled on them: Mudblood. Whore. Much like in the book the Scarlet Letter, she had been branded for what society thought she was.

"Answer me!" Bellatrix yelled in frustration, throwing a dagger deep into her hand. It penetrated through it clean, pinning her hand to the ground. She was utterly and completely trapped like a rapid dog. Unable to move, this was not how she pictured dying. She wanted to die with dignity.

"Mudblood bitch! You think you can just lay there and not answer me! Where did you get the SWORD!" Bellatrix took a pause, taking her foot and swiftly kicking her in her ribs.

All she could do was scream when she felt her ribs crack. With her sharp breath she was covered in spasms of pain. Tears leaked out of her eyes. Barely able to form coherent thoughts, Hermione attempted to speak, only letting out a string of inaudible words.

"What is that Mudblood? Ready to talk then?"

Hermione looked into the floor again peering at the stranger looking back at her. This person was weak, begging to slip in the oblivion of death. This was not her. She turned her eyes away from her reflection with bitter resentment, resting on the blurred people in front of her. Four people stood in the room. Bellatrix looming above her, a mad, rageful glee covering her face; Lucius and Narcissia hand in hand, hard as stone near the back of the room; Draco Malfoy stood just behind Bellatrix and even through the blood loss she could see his face had turned pale, almost ghostlike, his eyes filled with revulsion.

"Like what you see?" Hermione croaked out, "The mudblood at your feet."

"Draco," Bellatrix laughed, "The whore is taunting you. Put her in her place."

Hermione watched, falling in and out of hazy unconsciousness as he looked back at his parents in horror, shifting his feet. He didn't want to. Hermione could see that he could feel this was all just to wrong. He gripped his wand swallowing hard.

"Come nephew," Bellatrix cooed placing her hand on Malfoy's neck petting his hair, "Do as the Dark Lord wishes. I would advise against failing him again. He has been gracious to you."

Their eyes connected for a moment, and through the tears she could see he didn't want this. "Please," She mouthed, losing her ability to speak. "Draco. Please."

For a brief moment, honey brown met silver in clear desperation. Both too young to play their parts, but forced to take the stage anyway. His gaze pierced her with abject terror; as if she was the audience, his superiors the directors and he, stricken with stage fright, had suddenly forgotten his lines.

It was slow motion. A pause, an exhale of breath from thin lips pulled over a gaunt, pale face. The sudden rush of air blew upward, making platinum blonde hair fly as if they were caught in a breeze. As his neck craned behind him, she lost track of his eyes—of the face of hesitation. His head nodded, sharp and quick at his parents behind him. Hermione let her eyes slide close—darkness encasing her, waiting for words clear enough to shatter glass.

_"Crucio!"_

Is this what it meant to be a hero?

She heard the scream before the pain registered—her own shrill voice bouncing off the tall vaulted ceilings. Gut wrenching sobs that didn’t feel like her own. It was only when she felt a large, slender hand slide through her matted locks that she realized the pain was gone, but she couldn’t stop screaming. Draco balled his fist up in her hair and wrenching her forward, the palm of her hand ripping from the ground and thudding against the hit of the blade in a sickening sound that resembled the tearing of cloth. Her eyes snapped open and met Malfoy nose to nose, his eyes steeled with determination

"Just bloody do it Granger. Answer her. The time for nobility, has tragically come to an end," He whispered, each word punctuated with a pleading emphasis.

"Hermione!"

Malfoy had let go of her hair, thrown back to the ground. Hermione could hear a wand scattering in the distance. Her head cracked against the floor. Half naked, no longer able to truly see all she could make out was a dash of red in front of her. Someone, more of a blur really, stood in front of her screaming words that bled together so she couldn't understand them. She could only make out a muffled  _thud thud thud_  against the floor.

She began to float then. Warm arms wrapped around her blood soaked body. Her arm dangled below her, limp as a rag doll, drawn by gravity and hurried footsteps. She closed her eyes and let herself slip out of conscious thought—the motion and blurred colors making her sick.

"Hold on Mione. God hold on. "

It was the last words that were clear before she collapsed.

It was three weeks before she could really hold unto a conscious state. She would swim back and forth, from the burning lights above her to nothingness. She didn't even dream. She suspected she was being fed an array of different pain tonics and dreamless sleep potions to keep her in a state of comfortable sleep. But Hermione wasn't comfortable. Each time she woke up, fighting herself out of the fog she would get blasted with visions of the manor.

It was all that she could do was scream. Bellatrix ripping into her flesh with her blade. Her friends hovering around her reduced to blurs that whispered incoherent sentences. Sometimes she would capture her name but nothing more.

One morning as she struggled awake she heard one word  _pitiful._

Hermione's eyes lifted open slowly. It was a struggle for her, as if boulders were holding them down. Her vision was blurred like always but as she managed to blink it cleared for the first time since the manor. She could see them rushing about and their forms made her sick. Groaning she closed her eyes again trying to move her arms. But she couldn't lift them.

"Harry," she croaked, "Ron.”

It sounded like her vocal cords had been ripped out and replaced with a voice box. The only reason she could tell the difference was the indescribable pain that crept over her as she tried to even talk. Her mouth was wrenched open, her head tilted to keep her from strangling. By the taste of the tonic being fed to her it was the same mixture of pain tonics as before.

"Another one. The other one!" Someone else bit.

All she could here was a shuffle of feet around her, someone trying to take orders as quickly as possible.

"Hermione," Someone whispered, "Hermione if you can understand me just blink. Just blink once okay."

The hand began to smooth her hair as she lifted her eye lids again and blinked.

"Thank Merlin," someone breathed out. She could faintly recognize the voice and as the pain tonic set in she realized it was Harry.

"Harry?" she whispered.

"Yes Mione," he half sobbed, " It's me. I'm right here."

Someone opened her mouth again, pouring down a thicker liquid this time, something they haven't given her yet the best she could recall. She waited a moment as a calming sensation began to spread all over her. She sighed— some sort of calming tonic for her nerves. She lifted her eyes again after letting both potions set in and was greeted by a beautiful sight.

Ron and Harry both hovered over her, their eyes red and cheeks stained with tears. They both sobbed, clutching the side of her bed. Harry let his head hang for a moment muttering something so low she couldn't comprehend. Both of them took one of her hands, taking their thumbs and rubbing them in soothing circular motions. She could feel their thumbs on most surfaces of her hands. She sighed in relief so she could still feel.

"What," she whispered breathlessly, "What happened?"

Harry and Ron shared a glance for a moment. Hermione got frustrated with the two of them but remained still as she could barely lift her eyelids. They both slowly nodded, sitting down on her bed carefully to not touch her in fear of hurting her. "What do you remember Mione?"

What did she remember?

Pain. Pain like she couldn’t describe with words. Pain that couldn’t be explained in books or lessons. Slick with her own blood. Her own screams ringing endlessly in her ears. Pathetic babbling for mercy. Blonde hair and piercing gray eyes. _Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood whore._

Hermione felt her heart beat quicken and her chest began to ache with piercing pain. She heaved breathes but couldn’t get enough air. The world tilted on its axis – blurs of colors and voices in slow motion. She weazed, shaking hands balling up in her hair and ripping it out by the root.

"Hermione stay with us please!" Ron begged.

_A pause, an exhale of breath from thin lips pulled over a gaunt, pale face. The sudden rush of air blew upward, making platinum blonde hair fly as if they were caught in a breeze. As his neck craned behind him, she lost track of his eyes—of the face of hesitation. His head nodded, sharp and quick at his parents behind him. Hermione let her eyes slide close—darkness encasing her, waiting for words clear enough to shatter glass._

_"Crucio!"_

_Is this what it meant to be a hero?_

"It okay Mione! You're not back there you're safe!"

"The blood," she gasped, "So much blood!"

The doors flew open and she was lost in a sea of terror unable to fight her way out. She felt the bed underneath her. She registered Ron and Harry’s hands, prying her fists out of her own hair. She heard the rushed footsteps of nurses. But none of it felt real through the haze of panic.

_"What is that Mudblood? Ready to talk then?"_

_Hermione looked into the floor again peering at the stranger looking back at her. This person was weak, begging to slip in the oblivion of death. This was not her._

"Draco! Please!"

She heard the words exit her lips but all she could see was him kneeling in front of her again. The walls of the room around her melted back to the dining room of the manor, shining in gems, gold, marble and blood.

_Bellatrix Lestrange's high pitched tone was so low it was if she was muffled. She could never tell what was coming next: A long, deep cut with her enchanted blade or another round of the Cruciatus Curse. Her own scream rang in her ears like a high pitched ring._

_‘_ "Put her back to sleep!"

She felt several hands holding her down all at once opening her mouth again and she tried to fight against them. She was back there in her mind. They were holding her down; getting ready to take her; rape her.

"No," no she sobbed, "Please stop."

They forced her mouth open and a cold liquid filled her mouth. She was forced to swallow. It was only seconds before she slipped back into nothingness.

The next time her eyes open it was much easier than the last. Her vision danced for a shorter amount of time and she was able move her fingers on her own again. When she was able to see straight again, Harry and Ron were sitting in the same places as they were before, deep in sleep. The moon light spilled into the unfamiliar room but she realized with a jolt that she was safe. She closed her eyes slowing her breathing.

"I am not at the manor," she mumbled sensibly, "I am safe with the Order."

She opened her eyes again and looked at her friends with a clear mind. They were both exhausted. Even though they appeared clean and their cuts were healing, their skin was still covered in faint bruises from the battle. That they were clean was the most she could say about her friends; haphazard, it looked as if they barely took time to get properly changed before they ran to her side, let alone enough time to eat. Ron had fallen asleep on a tray of food in front of him and a bit of mashed potatoes covered his nose.

"Ron," she said as clearly as possible, "Ron get out of your food."

Ron sat up with a jolt, nearly falling out of his hair. When he looked at her she could see a wave of relief wash over him and a smile split his face. "Merlin Harry! Wake up!" He said has he wiped the cold food off his face. "She's awake!"

Harry jumped to his feet to her side looking at her with excitement and caution. Did she look that bad? She faintly remembered her spells from the times she woke up before. They must be relieved she hadn't gone mad again. She was surprised herself to be perfectly honest.

"Mione are you," Harry paused taking her hand in his, "Okay?"

Was she okay? Hermione knew that she wasn't. Not only was her physical pain unbearable but the mental pain she dealt with drove her mad. It was surprising she hadn't lapsed again but she tried to take it for a miracle. She wasn't foolish enough to think it wouldn't happen again, but she did know that she was thankful for these few moments of clarity.

"No," she admitted, "Not really. But I'm not screaming yet."

"Well it's a start," Ron whispered.

"Get the healers Ron," Harry said, "They will need to see her."

As Ron rushed from the room Hermione looked back at Harry trying to ignore the pain. "How long have I been out?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair sighing before he answered her, "A month."

Hermione sucked in a breath, "Harry," she said in disbelief, "A month? What's happened?"

"Well Hermione, the last time we started this conversation," He gulped, "You freaked. I don't want to do that to you again."

"It's okay Harry," she reassured him shifting herself, "I think I can handle it now."

Harry looked at her skeptically. She could tell he didn't approve of the idea but she needed to know. "Harry," she pleaded, "I should be dead Harry. Please tell me."

"Alright," he started, "We had been stuck down there bloody fucking ever. Felt like ages just listening—listening to you scream. Nothing we could do. It was just by chance that we escaped. Dobby was there and helped us get out of that damn room. It was all we could do to run to get to you but the Death Eaters were everywhere. We had to curse a few along the way. I'm-" Harry stopped, like his throat was closing up, "I'm sure I killed a few. By the time we made it in there you were on the damn ground. Ron was so furious. Merlin I had never seen him that angry before. He launched Malfoy across the room and I grabbed his wand. We did the best we could to get you back to Dobby to get you out of there. Ron carried you across the room in his arms while dueling until we finally got to out."

"Then we made it out?" she asked, "Everyone is okay?"

She saw apprehension in his eyes before he nodded, "Yeah. We are all okay."

"Your lying Harry!" she hissed.

"Hermione—"

"Don't lie to me! I nearly died for you two! To think of all the time I have been by your side and you lie!"

She began to shake again; she could feel her legs quivering and her teeth began to chatter together. Harry reached trying to sooth her again. "Look what is important right now for you is that everyone here—Ron, me and you, Luna, Dean—we all got out alive okay? Just focus on that. We are all alive."

"Well then what happened Harry?" She chattered.

"I will tell you when you're ready okay?"

Hermione nodded, their moment interrupted as the doors flew open. The healers ran into the infirmary surrounded her. Spells casted over her, her body examined by multiple people and more potions shoved down her throat.

At least this time she could open her mouth and drink them herself to some degree.

The next few weeks were really a blur to her. Blending together with the monotony of the same routine. For the most part she was able to remain stable with a minimum of what she assumed were panic attacks. It had sunk in that she had what muggles called PTSD. With no surprise, the healers had no cure for it and knew little about the functions of the brain. They only suggested for her to keep a steady supply of calming tonics around at all times to ward off the worst of the attacks. They had been slowly feeding her the tonics since her worst attacks. It explained to her why she was able to stay awake and hold her mind together. The healers had been convinced that the trauma she had suffered would be impossible to recover from—calming tonic or no—and they all had been pleasantly surprised with her progress.

After two months in the infirmary Hermione was beginning to get irritable and restless. They wouldn't allow her to read any books or see many people. The first time Ginny had visited her she had dissolved into tears at the very sight of Hermione and had to be dragged out by Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom. After that, they kept restrictions on visitors for Hermione. In other words, only Harry and Ron could visit and only them simply because they refused to leave her accept for important Order business. She had gathered after a long while that they were at the new Order headquarters. Ron had reluctantly give in to her wishes and told her that the Order had regrouped and was meeting back at the Longbottom manor. Apparently with the increase in violence against blood traitors, the Longbottom family had fled, leaving only Neville behind simply because he refused to leave the war effort. Surpsingly enough she was told that the Longbottom home was quiet large—large enough to hold an infirmary and comfortably hold the members of the Order. It was secluded she was told, miles away from any locals and warded by several of the staff from Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had warded the house themselves and left McGonagall as the secret keeper. She had been told that only a select few upper members of the order had been given the exact location of the base, one naturally being Neville. These members would lead missions and apparate those members who were not given the location. It was a safety measure she understood; not only being careful about traitors in the ranks, but in case any of them are taken.

Hermione swirled her spoon in the tomato soup in front of her. She had now gotten back to normal sleeping patterns and her wounds were healing up nicely. She was nearly back to normal and all she wanted was to be out of the infirmary. Out of these white washed walls and white tile floors. Away from the closed curtains and rows of beds and in her own quarters making a difference. She knew she couldn't go on a mission—not yet—but she could at least do  _something_. Laying and doing nothing lead her mind to drift to other thoughts, thoughts that inevitably led back to the manor.

She closed her eyes and tears flowed freely down her face. She wanted to forget and to oblivitate it all but she knew she couldn't. Harry and Ron didn't understand why but she didn't feel right about doing that. It would be hiding away from it and Hermione was not a coward. She didn't want the memories to control her. It would hurt every day; every moment something would remind her of what happened to her it was inevitable. The memories would leave deep scars and she might have to take calming potions for the rest of her life but she hoped not. She hoped one day she could triumph over it.

"To bloody brave," Ron had muttered.

Hermione chuckled to herself thinking back. Perhaps she was but they all had their own scars from the war. How fair would it be for her to just get rid of hers without any real effort to live with them? Her experience had changed her. Whether for the good or bad she didn't know but she knew for certain that what had changed had taught her the darker side of things. Something that she couldn't be blind to anymore.

After nearly two and a half months laying in the infirmary the healers cleared her to leave. She was not allowed to go on any missions but could help out with research and around the manor. They told her if she progressed enough she might be able to assist in training with some time, but to take it slow. She knew what they were all trying to say:  _don't have another breakdown_.

Hermione had slipped out of the bed, Ron and Harry on both sides. "I can walk on my own," she growled frustrated.

"And I am sure you can," Harry said, "We just want to make sure okay?"

Hermione muttered underneath her breath in frustration. She could handle this without being coddled. She had been coddled for two months now. She just wanted to get back to the war effort and keep her mind busy. The boys led her up to the double doors. They were both okay and slid her fingers against the wood. She stopped looking over at the boys. She was suddenly afraid. Afraid of walking out the doors back into the light. She hadn't seen anyone but the boys and healers for months now. Everyone else would treat her differently, dance around her now. No use in pretending it wouldn't happen.

"Guys what do I do?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Mione you just go on okay? We will be with you. Just do the best you can okay?"

Hermione took a deep breath before pushing the door wide open.


	2. Chapter Two: Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco, like Lucius, fancied himself a leader due to his superior intellect and mounds of old money growing by the day. Crabbe and Goyle were smart enough to pass school exams but just barely. They were fit body guards and could take directions wells enough. They knew when to laugh at his jokes and when to agree with him. They were loyal to him above all others at Hogwarts but here was another matter. It wasn't the Dark Lord who held their loyalty above Draco but their fathers. And like them, Crabbe Senior and Goyle Senior were loyal to another Malfoy- only it was his father. When it came right down to it Draco understood why Crabbe and Goyle were dragging him down to the dungeon and a part of him had accepted it and already forgiven them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break in this story. This is something that I started writing several years ago. I really want to see this story completed so I can see this to the end. I wrote this chapter several years ago, and while I have went through and made so minor changes, my writing has grown a bit since this point. That being said-- this chapter is the beginning of a three part segment of Draco's POV. We will not see Hermione again until Chapter Four. And in case this wasn't clear, this is a very slow burn. Draco and Hermione will form a bond of sorts early on but it will not be a romantic one until much later.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter and the following chapters will contain some graphic abuse and violence. If you are triggered by any physical or emotional abuse, this story is probably not the story for you.

 

When he was a young boy he had been plagued with nightmares. Every night, as if on a schedule, he would wake up screaming. Visions of dark hooded figures, barely human—faces covered in shadows and masks--would chase him through the darkness. He would run desperately from the figures, for what seemed like hours but they kept chasing him. Right as he would wake up he would trip in his dream and the hooded figures would grab the hem of his robes, pulling him back into the darkness. His mother would sweep him up in her arms, and he would awake screaming and shaking listening to the soft rhythm of her heart. She would sooth him, rubbing at the back of his hair.  _"Mommy the dark men were coming to get me."_ He would whisper, as if a secret. Every time his mother would kiss him on the top of his head and sooth, "It's okay Draco, it's just a dream."

She would never say it wasn't real and as Draco's head cracked against the hard floor of the dining hall he understood why. He had been consumed by the dark robes, pulled in as he ran hopelessly, cowardly away without much real effort.

Draco pushed himself up from the floor, the room spinning around him. His head ached terribly. He reached to the back of his head, and pulled his hand forward, covered in blood. Draco felt his knees begin to shake and he let out a panicked breath. He knew that it was most likely his own blood and from the pain shooting through his head he suspected a concision at the slightest. He had to move though, he couldn't stop because of a simple injury.

Compared to what the Dark Lord would do if they got away, this was a minor injury.

He searched the floor bubbling fear taking over his senses. His wand. He pulled his hair, searching about the room for any sign of it. It had flown out of his hand with the blast from Weasley.  _My wand. My wand. My wand!_

"Looking for something Malfoy?" Someone yelled from across the room.

Draco's head snapped in the direction of the voice to see Potter, dueling with his Aunt Bellatrix and holding his own very well.  _Only thing was that Potter didn't have wand before._ In the confusion and haze Potter had taken the opportunity and snatched his wand. He stood frozen in his tracks. He was hopeless- no wand and barely able to see through the blur of his injury his only hope was to stumble after them. If they escaped he would be punished brutally for it. He had seen what had happened to the others when they let Potter get away and it was far from pleasant. Some of the suffering had come from his own hands.

His own doom hung in front of him, taunting him as Weasley jerked the knife out of Granger's hand, lifting her off the floor into his arms. She was covered in blood, barely recognizable as human. Her shirt fell open as the red head shifted her in his arms, running for the front of the hall.

 Draco's legs began moving- sprinting after them. If he just caught one- if he just caught Weasley by the leg and maybe got Granger perhaps the Dark Lord would take some sort of mercy on him. His legs were long and all his training in quidditch had kept him strong and quick. _So close_. Weasley loomed just in front of him, gripping onto Granger with one arm as he casted a curse at Aunt Bellatrix, only narrowly missing her. The effort it took to cast a curse and hold Granger had slowed Weasley considerably. It was enough that Draco had enough speed to catch up with him. He reached out, inches way from Weasley long mangy locks.

His heart shuddered at what came next.

With a pop a house elf had appeared next to Potter and Draco realized with a start that it had been Dobby, their own old house elf.

He was too late. With Weasely's free arm he gripped onto Dobby. In that moment Draco peered at his impending doom. He was more than afraid- fear didn't describe the feeling that spread from his gut. It was a feeling that paralyzed all of his clear thoughts and senses.

His Aunt Bellatrix's dagger- the same one that carved on the Mudblood- sored across the room and planted itself in the Elf's chest as he disappeared with a crack from the room. Regardless of the elf's death, they had gotten away.

Through the muffles and slow motion of his own engulfing panic, he heard shrill screams that began to bounce off the manor's high ceilings. This was not screams like Granger's but screams of anger.

"Fool!" Aunt Bellatrix screamed in rage, "Fool! Blood traitor!"

Draco shook his head in protest backing up against the wall. It was futile to run. Even if he had his wand he could have done nothing to stop it. He was helpless at the mercy of Bellatrix LeStrange. He had seen what she had done to Mudblood Granger. While those outside the Dark Lord's service might not have realized it but there was a difference between the treatment of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors.

Blood Traitors were treated worse. Much worse.

"No," he said, a hint of desperation in his voice, "I am not a blood traitor. I tried to stop the Mudblood but Potter and Weasley-"

"So you allowed a Blood Traitor to take a prisoner and give an unarmed man your wand? The man who wishes to kill the Dark Lord?" Aunt Bellatrix pressed further.

"No!" He begged, "No Weasley blew me back against the wall! I would never-"

"To allow the unarmed, injured enemy to take your wand and leave with several prisoners is the actions of a Blood Traitor that must be punished!"

His mother flew to her sister, quiet tears flowing down her cheeks. Draco's heart clenched as she took Bellatrix's hand and whispered, "Please sister. He is my son, your only nephew sister. Please let Draco prove himself again. Please, we will do anything. Right Lucius?"

Draco looked at his father expectedly. He pleaded with his father silently to allow him to be spared. His father's face stayed calm, devoid of any emotion as he looked at his son, blood spattered on his new robes. His father, despite all his faults, had always been a hero. A good father. As his only heir Draco had been treated as royalty; raised to carry on the Malfoy name. His father had doted on him and loved him deeply despite his cold exterior. Despite his cold hard face and withered heart Draco still hoped- still knew his father would defend him.

"A son who offends and is a hindrance to the Dark Lord is no son of mine."

He spoke without falter in his voice; without regret on his face; without loyalty, love or compassion for family in his heart

"Lucius?" Narcissia barely spoke his name loud enough for Draco to hear it. His mother swept to his side, gripping to his arm in fright. "Surely you don't mean that? He did all he could! He is just a boy!"

"A boy who has betrayed the confidence of the Dark Lord," Lucius bit, "And because of his actions he is no son of mine."

Aunt Bellatrix laughed with a strange glee and Draco stood stunned. How could his father truly believe that? They had all seen him in the battle—it could have happened to any one of them who had been caught off guard. His attention had been on Granger; he had been doing his  _duty_  as a Death Eater for the good sake of the family. He had been willing only to spare the life of his mother and father. The Dark Lord had been particularly vicious towards them; any misstep the Malfoy's took would be inevitably taken out on the entire lot of them. The Dark Lord had taken his home, security, and freedom. Now it would seem he would claim his family and his life.

How was it possibly fair? His mother clinging onto his arm, placing her body in front of his as if she could protect him—as if she had a choice in the matter. She would only be in the way; he could see that now. Behind his skin, Lucius Malfoy was no longer the caring father he had once been to his family. Now his wrath had no boundaries, not even with his own flesh and blood. His father would allow him to be ripped to pieces in front of all that could stand to gather. The Dark Lord would not soil his own hands with Draco's blood- he never did. He preferred to sit at the far end of the room and have his chosen follower to do his bidding. Sometimes, the Death Eaters would even take turns. He had been forced his fair share of times. Second chances did not exist with the Dark Lord. You refused one task and you forfeited your life.

"Lucius," Bellatrix cooed cocking her head to the side, "What do you suggest we do with him?"

There was a long, tense pause that filled the air before his father began to speak. Finally, slanting his eyes toward his son he mused, "Well I suppose we mend the boy, so he doesn't bleed all over the place. Then of course we will let the Dark Lord decide.

"Sounds fitting," Bellatrix agreed, "Although I really do hate to mend him. A Blood Traitor really doesn't deserve kindness."

"No!"

The shriek was so loud that it nearly made Draco jump where he stood. He looked over at his mother who was beginning to leap forward, her hand slowly drawing her wand from the pocket of her dress. Draco acted quickly without hesitation. He stepped forward, grabbing his mother by her arms and wrestled her back near him. "Draco! Let me go! No! He is just a boy! My baby! Our baby Lucius!" Her felt her begin to sob as she begged the two in front of them. If her sobs affected them, Draco took no notice of it on the exterior.

"Mother," He whispered, "It's alright. I will take their punishment."

Narcissia turned to her son, placing her hands on his chest. He looked down at his mother; her skin and almost grayed from malnutrition and her eyes set with deep black rings. Her hair had grayed considerably over the past few months from constant fear and worry. She gripped the front of his robes, shaking her head desperately. She seemed so frail, so lifeless and she clung to him as if he was her reason to survive. "No Draco Darling," She shuddered, "They will kill you."

Draco Malfoy took his mother in his arms, kissing the top of her head before leaning down and whispering into her ear, "It's okay Mommy. I'll be alright.”

He pulled away from her, turning his head not being able to bare the grief on her face. She already mourned his loss as if he was already dead. Honestly, she might as well be. In the corner of his eye he could see her blurred outline, holding her hands to her chest as if holding the shreds of her heart. Her mouth dropped open gasping for air. Draco looked up, willing the tears away as he set his sights on his father and aunt in front of him. "Well?" he asked, "What exactly are you waiting for?"

Aunt Bellatrix swept over to him, as if she glided across the blood in the hall. She grabbed the back of his head roughly and jammed her wand into his injury. Draco made himself stay strong, not even wincing through of the pain of the half ass mend job to the back of his skull. He could tell she only mended it enough to keep him from bleeding to the point the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to judge him. His Father and Aunt Bellatrix grabbed one of his wrists each and began to drag him from the hall.

The words kept running through his head.

" _Unable to kill a dangerous enemy. Unable to punish a prisoner. Unable to accept my generosity. Unable to capture fleeing prisoners. GIVING THE MAN WHO IS PROPHECIZED TO KILL ME YOUR WAND? "_

" _How pathetic."_

" _I'm sorry Dark Lord, "He could only say, "I accept my punishment as you see fit."_

He accepted a punishment he didn't deserve. He didn't do those things—not really. He had been caught off guard while trying to punish a prisoner, while accepting his  _generosity_. His wand had flew from his hand across the room where Potter took the chance to take it. He had busted his head open. Wand stolen, injury blurring his senses, he had lost prisoners but never willingly did any of it.

He realized now that he had been nothing more than a pawn to his father and his aunt. They had simply wanted someone to blame the situation on. As the lowest rank and most pathetic, considering the circumstances, with the right wording anyone would see fit to punish him. As the Dark Lords most trusted followers they did not deserve punishment as he did. They fought bravely to get the prisoners back under control. Bellatrix even killed the house elf helping them escape. What had he done but make their escape much, much easier?

"What should we do to the traitor Nagini?"

Draco was on his hands and knees, bowing to the Dark Lord in front of him. It would be a sign of disrespect to speak without being told to, to even look at him would be absurd. Showing respect would not help him in any way but it might allow them to take pity on his mother. He would suffer and bare all consequences so that she may be spared. In hopes that she would not have to fear her life and would never have to worry about the safety of her family and her home. That was the least he could do for his mother.

"I agree," he hissed, "Draco Malfoy you will be sentenced to punishment by your father. You will then be locked away in the dungeon for Greyback to do with you as he sees fit.

He heard his mother's gasp behind him with incoherent sobs. Soon enough he heard several footsteps and the door behind him slam; he could only assume they would be taking his mother into another room. While she was married to a Death Eater and supported the cause, she had never taken the Mark herself. She explained that she was not fit for duty, as she had always been slightly ill. The Dark Lord understood that and allowed for her to care for those who needed healing and other aid while in the Manor. Because of this, she had never been forced to attend meetings or watch punishments.

Certainly not her own sons.

"Look up."

It was a simple command that Draco obeyed immediately and found him looking at could only be his father, in full Death Eater regalia. Two others had walked up behind them, and by the feeling of their grubby hands it could only be Crabbe and Goyle. How fitting—his father and henchmen would be those to disgrace him in a public grandstand.

"Rip them off."

He braced himself as Crabbe and Goyle grabbed his robes roughly and in one motion ripped them from his body. He was left bare, only in his blood-stained trousers and new black loafers kneeling on the floor. His father jerked his face up to look at him, one hand wrapped tightly around his neck. Draco dug his fingers in the grout between the tiled floors of the chamber and his father jerked his arm up for all to see his mark.

"A mark of honor that you have betrayed! You have shamed the Dark Lord and for that you will be punished," he spat at him before jabbing his wand onto Draco's Mark. The mark began to move and it felt like it was burning his flesh. He couldn't hide his face or jerk his arm away. He could only darken his eyes, devoid them of all emotion.

Draco didn't shudder or flinch away when his father brandished the long danger from inside his robes. His Aunt Bella's initials carved on the hilt of the dagger shown clearly in the light of the room. Draco noticed before the tip of the dagger was swung down and danced along the flesh of his tattoo that Granger's blood still stained the blade.  _They hadn't even bothered to clean the blade. That's comforting._  His father didn't brush his skin lightly with the dagger but began to carve the words on his skin deeply, the tip of the metal completely embedded in his arm. His father's elegant writing was covered by the pooling blood that dripped down onto the floor. Draco knew, unlike many others, that Aunt Bella's daggers had the unique magical ability to create permanent, incurable scars even in death. Like him, Granger would be forever branded with the words of what she is.

His father swiped the blood of Draco's wrist and held it up high for the arena to see his work;  _Blood Traitor_  was carved over his mark and blood steadily pooled from the letters. He wanted to scream from the pain, cry from the feeling of betrayal that ached in his heart but Draco Malfoy stayed still his knuckles turning white from his tightly clenched fists. It was just beginning- he knew that. Never the less, no matter what his father did to him it would never hurt worse than the words he carved in his arms. Forever an outcast from his family because of his scars, forever an outcast from society because of his mark; He had never felt more alone.

Crabbe and Goyle pulled his arms back behind him, causing his elbows to slam into the hard floor. Draco was thankful that it was only his elbows rather than his head. Lucius did not waste his time he came up in front of his son looking down on Draco with the eyes of a cold, hateful stranger. Draco knew now how the mudbloods, blood traitors, and muggles had felt before him. Cold, alone and badly injured inside he trembled in fear. He did not know the man before him who raised his wand and pointed at his face. He didn't know what would come next, before his spit out the words. All he could do was brace himself, tightening his muscle to keep from shaking in pain from the Crucio. Every inch of his body was alive with pain. Some places he didn't even realize would hurt blinded him with inescapable pain. Draco kept his eyes trained on the ground, every muscle tightly wound and every vain popping up beneath the skin. His father didn't simply let the pain dissipate before he cast another spell but he cast a rapid succession. Draco knew what kept a victim awake was not the endless pain but the breaks between the pain. It allowed them to be tortured longer before being killed. Either his father did not plan to punish him long or he simply didn't care if Draco collapsed with exhaustion or insanity. Draco realized that his father now stood behind him. He did not feel the bit thankful when his father stopped casting the curse and began to move to the back of him. While this was not the first time he felt fear for his father, but it the first time his mother could not sway his father’s actions. Draco had no buffer between himself and his fathers rage. His father had tortured plenty of innocents—Draco had watched him but this was different. His father had something to prove. _His name._

"The thing is," Lucius whispered, "That while muggles are beneath us and deserve to be our cattle, the do have imaginative ways to torture their prisoners. This for example is one of my favorites."

Draco knew it wasn't him his father was talking too but engaging the audience; he was the afternoon entertainment.

Draco could not hold back his gasp when something slammed into his back, sending his forehead cracking against the floor. It felt like a thousand metal shards and slammed into his back and dug their way beneath his skin. He felt his father pull on the device that was imbedded into him,  ripping out of him taking bits of flesh with it.  "The name of this," Lucuis laughed as he slammed it back into his back, " is the cat o' nine tails."

Draco wasn't sure what the cat o' nine tales was but he felt for sure that he didn't like it. The cat o' nine tails was ripped back again, taking more bits of flesh with it. He bit down on his lip hard his head throbbing and his vision began to blur. He began to feel wet tears fall down his cheeks and he thanked silently that his head was against the floor. He felt his mind hanging on by a thread hanging on a thread between the balance of sanity and consciousness. He wanted to scream out in a mixture of pain and rage a his heard the talon that was tearing him apart crack in the air, spraying his flesh down on him. He felt the bits fall all over him and he felt his stomach begin to heave and roil with nausea. Covered in blood, he felt several of them fall onto his back.  Bile rose up in his throat in a massive way that he couldn't push back. He heard the splat of his own vomit spray on the floor below him, splashing back onto his face.

"Such a weak boy," Lucius snarled, "In so many ways. Crabbe, show him what we do to those with a weak stomach and a weak will." His right arm fell back to the ground with a snap, too heavy to hold up and aching as if it was pulled out of socket. To tell the truth it probably was pulled out of socket but he knew it was the least of his worries as he felt Crabbe's large grubby hand take a fist full of his hair and mashed his face into the floor below him. The vomit he had covered the floor with was now pressed against his face, forced up his nostrils as he struggled to take a breath. He tried to pull back to take a breath, opening his mouth and gasping for air only to find more of his own bile inhaled into his mouth. He choked and spluttered, heaving so hard his stomach muscles began to quiver and ache.

_"Please stop."_

Draco felt Crabbe falter; his hand still tearing his hair from his scalp but no longer spreading his face in the vomit. Chuckles peppered around the room but his pride couldn't care. He would care later, that is if he lived to make it to later. If he lived long enough to worry about his pride he would be grateful- thankful for it.

His father paused and Draco heard the cat o'nine tales fall with a thump against the floor. Crabbe had let go of his head and Draco strained to keep his head out of the vomit below him as specks from his face began to drip down his neck. "He wishes to stop," Lucius mused, "Dark Lord, what is your request."

The silence was chilling that elapsed around the room. Draco force himself up to his knees and turned his aching neck to turn to the Dark Lord. With all his heart he felt suddenly unashamed in his act of failure. The whole affair- the victims, the killing, the torturing, the planning felt unbelievably, clearly wrong. He knew in his heart that the mark on his arm that he should regret was not the freshly carved words that marred him but the Dark Mark that his father had proudly pushed him to getting. For weeks after receiving the mark Lucius would ask Draco to roll up his sleeve at every appropriate occasion, even when they entertained guests. As his guest would walk in he would display Draco's mark with swelling pride and the people would congratulate him, showing him their own marks as if he had joined a sanctified brotherhood to be proud of. Draco, for a moment, had felt that pride and felt as if he belonged; regardless of what he had done to earn his mark he knew that he had joined a group that would lead him to greatness and allow him to take part in the movement to change the world.

As Draco Malfoy stared into those red endless snake-like depths he realized that he was the one that had been wrong all along. Not Potter and his gang of self-righteous pratts. Not Granger and her horse teeth and mounds of books. Not Dumbledore and his halfcocked advice and moon shaped glasses. But him. His mark ashamed him and it floored him, made his heart shudder to a stop for one brief moment; all of the beliefs he had been raised to think was the right order of things were terribly, disgustingly wrong.

"Take him to Greyback."

It was the last hiss that Draco could hear before he was forced to his feet by Crabbe and Goyle. His father paused them, standing before him and pulled off his mask. He pulled back his arm and with a hard smack, slapped the cold material across Draco's face. He spat a large amount of blood onto the ground and it splattered onto the edge of his father's robes.

"You 're wrong."

Crabbe and Goyle had hauled him off his feet when they were out of the view of Lucius and the others. The mixture of the pain and sounds of merriment behind him made him nauseous. Crabbe had pulled his left arm over his shoulder and Goyle had done the same with his right so that his thin body hung limp between their monstrous frames as they toted him down the steps.

Draco, like Lucius, fancied himself a leader due to his superior intellect and mounds of old money growing by the day. Crabbe and Goyle were smart enough to pass school exams but just barely. They were fit body guards and could take directions wells enough. They knew when to laugh at his jokes and when to agree with him. They were loyal to him above all others at Hogwarts but here was another matter. It wasn't the Dark Lord who held their loyalty above Draco but their fathers. And like them, Crabbe Senior and Goyle Senior were loyal to another Malfoy- only it was his father. When it came right down to it Draco understood why Crabbe and Goyle were dragging him down to the dungeon and a part of him had accepted it and already forgiven them.

When they reached the cages, they were empty. He was sure they had been sent out to torture nameless muggles again- he would be left as the evening snack. The two boys let him drop onto the dirt floor below him. His blood and sweat made the dirt stick to him but it was comforting enough that he didn't mind his cell so bad at the moment. He knew he would regret that feeling later but he couldn't. He looked up as Crabbe closed and locked the gate behind them. For a brief second they stopped and looked back at him with grim faces. They were betraying him and hated it. He knew that, and allows himself to have hope against better judgement. Perhaps they would turn back. Give him wand to heal himself and let him out. He would knock them out with spells to make it believable. After that it was easy- all those years alone had allowed him to learn the manor well. He would be home free.

Only they didn't.

It was silly to hope, too silly to dream. He knew that as they turned to walk away. They would never do that. They would never betray their fathers.

Crabbe and Goyle disappeared from view and Draco listened, laying on the ground motionless as their steps fading out of earshot. He realized he was lucky enough that it was another two days from full moon. It meant he had at least two more days to live. If he was going to die at the hands of Grayback he was going to at least be sitting up. Slowly Draco pulled himself onto his hands and knees. All his muscles strained in pain. His vision swam from a mixture of pain, blood loss, and his half-mended head injury. He looked around the room trying to ignore his injuries. Water dripped down the right wall from the ceiling. He felt sure that a bit of water would make him feel at least well enough to remain conscious.

It took him several minutes to crawl to the corner, but he succeeded. Pulling himself to his knees, he let the steady dripping water wash over his face. He let the cool drops wash over his tongue. The water was refreshing running down his throat and cooled him considerably. He took his weak hands and rubbed his face, arching his neck to clean himself. He did this for quite some time, trying to be patient as he slowly washed his wounds before turning and leaning his back against the wall. At first the water stung but it washed out his wounds better than he could have hoped. It was the only thing he had and would need his strength.

Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and felt safe enough to sleep. Grayback wouldn't kill him in his sleep. That would be far too boring. He knew he didn't have a hope but at least he could grasp at a bit of strength so he could at least die with some sort of pride. It was only when he fell into the memories of mother singing that he was able to rest.

He wasn't sure how long he slept- swimming in a mixture of dreams and memories both good and bad. The chuckling echoing off the stone walls finally pulled him from his sleep.

"Needed your beauty rest Master Malfoy?"

Draco looked up at the person who clung onto the bars of his cell. Grayback stared back at him, blood dripping off his battered leather coat.

"How generous that the Dark Lord sent me a snack."

Draco felt a cold chill wash down his spine but he hardened his face in defiance. "You will find me more difficult than your usual snacks."

"Still feisty after Daddy threw you to the dogs eh?" Grayback laughed, "We will see how long that lasts."

Draco pulled himself onto his feet and his fingers gripped onto the blocked wall just as the cage unlocked and Grayback let it lock back behind him.

 


	3. Full Moon Rising Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who reviewed and followed/favorite the story! The next few chapters will take place around the same time that Hermione is recovering in the infirmary and begins to readjust. We will get back to her soon, but I am taking this detour to catch up on Draco's point of view. I am taking things slow in this story, so they won't be meeting just yet. This chapter is part of a two-part series so I hope you all like it! Review please!

Fenrir Greyback really did resemble a dog, even in human form. Regardless of his size, he looked thin somehow- worn down by the years of transformations. This is something he found that him and Lupin had in common. Even though their size looked drastically different, they still looked worn, tired and somehow dirty. Perhaps dirty wasn't the right word.  _Rough._ Yes, they were rough around the edges. Lupin, who was a smart, seemingly pathetic kind man, was just as rough around the edges as Greyback. He had never been afraid of either of the werewolves. Granted he hadn't really seen Lupin since he was in his third year but Greyback frequented the manor. Regardless of whether or he wanted to hurt any of them he hadn't been able to. Draco had walked around the manor laughing and sneering at him before because the fact he couldn't do anything to him. Now, as he was locked in the cage with Greyback and was being practically fed to him, he felt the chilling fear Greyback's other victims must have felt. He would die here tonight without ever really having a chance to live at all. Greyback simply leaned back against the bars of the cell across from him, his arms crossed on his chest. Draco sneered through the pain. His injuries had slowly stopped bleeding- at least he hoped they had- and he knew he had bled a lot. His head injury still throbbed, and his vision was blurred. Bella had only stopped the bleeding; she hadn't even begun to heal the actual injury. His back was unbelievably sore, and he felt sure he was badly infected. If he lived through this he would need severe attention and would come out at best horribly scarred. But he doubted that he would live through it. It had never been anyone's intention to let him live and Greyback wasn't famous for showing mercy. If anything he was a bloodthirsty brute that was merely tolerated. Even though he came from a pure blood line, Greyback wasn't considered pure anymore. He was at best infected and werewolves were merely tolerated for their uses. He wasn't considered clean anymore; then again neither we're blood traitors either.

Greyback let out a low chuckle, breaking the icy silence. "How the mighty have fallen."

"Well there is one good thing at least," Malfoy quipped looked down as if he was examining his finger nails, like he was bored.

"That being?"

Draco looked up with a smirk. He knew he would regret it later- taunting Greyback; but there wasn't much else he could do. It wasn't like he could fight him- at least not without a wand. Verbal abuse was the only thing he could really do and be successful. "I can never get as low as you. Even as a blood traitor at least I'm not a filthy animal."

Draco saw something snap in Greyback's eyes and demeanor. Up to this point he had remained in control, leashed his emotions and stayed calm trying to dominate the situation entirely. While Draco had no doubt he would physically dominate the situation; mentally Greyback couldn't compete with his wits. Greyback was a creature of violence and physically prowess and Draco was one with a cunning mind and a sharp tongue. Draco knew his status as a werewolf would be a touchy subject. Having felt the power of a pure blood from birth only to have it ripped away against your will would be difficult to live with. That is why he had said it. It would make his death quick and painless; instead of drawing it out he would explode in rage.

Greyback took two long, quick strides and crossed the room to him. With one hand he gripped Draco by the front of his neck and pushed him up the wall, his feet dangling above the ground. He struggled for air, Greyback painfully crushing his palm against his wind pipe. He took his hands and tried to pry the hand off his neck but it was too strong, holding on to him to tightly to budge. "You think you are above me? Blood traitor, outcast from pure society. Banished by your family and left to die in a dirty shit hole by me? You think you can't be lower than me you filthy blood traitor?" His voice was loud, echoing off the walls in rage. With one swift motion he threw Draco clear across to the opposite end of the cell. His body bounced off the metal bars and fell with a rough thud to the floor. Any previous injury that had stopped bleeding had spilt open again. Fear shined brightly on his face as he tried to scrabble backward in a futile attempt to gain a few more moments of life. He grasped onto every bit of his life he had left, clung to it. Some others would have begged for death by this point but Draco didn't. Despite the pain and exhaustion, he still wished to live with everything in him.

He was too afraid to die.

Greyback knelt, grabbing him by the scruff of his hair. He had a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Fucking pretty boy too good to get dirty-- too proud. Above doing the dirty work. Can't even properly kill anyone. Completely fucking useless even in a battle to keep prisoners from fleeing. Still think your above Greyback who has killed hundreds in the name of the Dark Lord? Better than me who gains new recruits by the day and leads missions? What have you done? You don't have your money or your name. Your nothing. But if I'm so dirty then," he paused looking at Draco with a smile, his teeth sharp and bloodstained, "Let's bring you down to my level."

Greyback drew back his hands, his finger nails sharp, long, and unfiled. He swept it across Draco's cheek, narrowly missing his eye before leaving the long diagonal marks across his chest. Then it came; Draco knew he would be bit- torn into fragments until he lost his breath and his heart stopped beating. Greyback bit into one shoulder, ripping out a chuck of his skin before biting into the other leaving mirrored wounds. Greyback stopped his assault, spitting Draco's blood onto his face before standing up to admire his work. He began backing away from Draco. His body heaped against the bars of the left side of the cage. Draco's mind swirled in confusion as Greyback opened the cell back with a large key and slipped it back into his pocket. As he reached the steps Draco heard him call back to him.

"Wondering why I didn't kill you? It's simple. Death is too good for the likes of you. I feel like taking my time with you- teaching you a lesson. I have better uses for you." He paused and Draco heard him walk back into the room. He sauntered over to the cage, leaning in with blood running down the corners of his mouth. "Did you know that we don't have to be turned to spread our curse? Just maim a little more to get the infection too spread good enough to take hold. As old and experienced as I am your wounds will do just fine."

Draco couldn't find the ability to breathe. He scrambled up, grabbing onto the bars of the cell as Greyback disappeared. He faintly heard him call back, "See you in two days Draco."

_"See you in two days Draco."_

Two days until the full moon.

Draco couldn't really form coherent thoughts. He was alive, but he wasn't thankful for it. He didn't expect this; he felt like his words would end him more quickly, not save his life.  _"For the moment."_  He reminded himself. He was alive but with a terrible cost. He was turned. Unable to deny it looming in his distant future he knew he would turn. He would be let loose- a new monster to rip apart innocent muggles limb from limb. It was an ugly fate, one that he himself hadn't fathomed. He hasn't given Greyback enough credit; he had been a Slytherin to. He had proved tonight how cunning he could be, and Draco regretted his quick tongue. He was the lowest of creatures now; a blood traitor death eater werewolf. If he did somehow manage an escape he would be forced to live alone; or worse be thrown in Azkaban. Draco leaned against the wall, not attempting to tend his wounds in a sadistic hope they may take his life. Moonlight shown through the small window at the top of the wall of his cell. It was late at night and the manor was quiet. He was sure most members were out on raids and missions now as most work was done during the night. The cover of the darkness aided them in raids, making them almost impossible to detect until they wished to be. He was comforted by this fact and he leaned his head against the wall to sleep. It was all he could do anyway. Accept perhaps kill himself. But he was too selfish for an act like that, so sleep was the option he took. When he first heard the rattling of his cell he thought it was a bazaar dream. It wasn't until warm hands caressed his face that he jolted awake.

Even through his blurry vision he seen his mother's face hovering over him. She collapsed to her knees in front of him and pulled his blood-stained body into her arms. Draco suddenly felt safe- comforted- and wrapped his dislocated arms painfully around her and cried into her chest. Sobs wracked his body as he let go of all the pain and all the fear caged inside of him. "Mommy," he sobbed into her, " Help me."

Draco felt her tears hit his skin and he only began to cry harder. It hurt so much- all over and he couldn't escape it. He didn't want to turn. He didn't want to kill of be monster. He just wanted to wake back up in his room in his green silk sheets like it was all a bad dream. He hadn't deserved this; didn't want this. He was only seventeen. Still a young lad in the eyes of people around him- just a young kid still growing into a man. He couldn't kill; couldn't rape or torture. He didn't have the heart for it. "It hurts so much mom! Everywhere!"

His mother pulled back holding his face in her hands. She leaned in giving him light kisses on his cheeks and forehead. She smoothed back his hair, whispering "I can't."

Her voice was strangled, choking down sobs with the two words. Grief strangled his mother's voice. Grief for her bleeding, beaten son. Grief because in the moment he really needed her, she could do nothing. Draco knew his mother's hands were tied and she couldn't help him. She was risking her life now as she hugged him tightly. Flying down here in the middle of the night, even with the manor nearly empty was at best insanity. Thinking she could free him—or even clean him and heal him was only wishful thinking. If she healed him and cleaned him, they would know. If not by looking at him, they would catch her and see if she cast the spells itself. It would be simple enough and he couldn't risk her life for his own petty pains. The emotional grief from losing his mother wasn't worth healing his body.

"I know Mom," he whispered, "It's okay. I'm alive."

"I know," her voice was filled with relief, "I am still wondering how—why—he let you live my son."

Draco stayed silent, casting his eyes down at the floor. He knew why he left him alive but he knew the truth would break his mother's heart. He didn't know if he could burden her like that. Every full moon her life would be filled with worry. She would rush to him afterwards, wondering if he even made it through the night alive. She would lay awake with tortured thoughts about how her son had not only been tortured by given the curse of lycanthropy. 'I don't know either mother. Perhaps the Dark Lord has chosen to spare me and keep my prisoner instead."

The lie had slipped out as easy as breathing. He had always been good to lying and his mother's belief in her son's words never wavered. She laid her forehead against his and closed her eyes. She let out a long deep breath, holding on to her son. Draco wondered, thinking to her clinging hands, if she feared that if she let go she would lose him for good and he feared the same but for different reasons. He knew he wasn't going to die, not now. No, now he knew he would more than likely undergo the change. He feared after that he wouldn't be the same. Would he be rough around the edges? Dirty tattered and scared for the rest of his life? Regardless of his muscles would he be limp with the stress of the monster, never letting anyone to close.

_Forever alone?_

_Alone with the monster?_

"I'm here mother," he whispered but he wasn't entirely sure he was saying it just for his mother's comfort, "He spared me. I'm here."

She nodded her head, giving her son one last kiss on his forehead. Draco closed his eyes and committed his mother to memory. Committed this moment to his mind. No matter what, during the darkness and despair his mother was there for him. She was the only person that was ever truly there for him and she lived as if Draco was the only thing left to care for; the only thing that ever truly mattered. He held onto to his mother's love in hope that in the darkest of moments it would be enough to comfort him in the approaching days.

His mother reached into her cloak and pulled out a lumpy figure in the dark cell and laid it in Draco's hands. He unwrapped the package, folded in a napkin was a small lump of bread. It was the best she could do under the circumstances, but it would be enough to keep him alive. He quickly eat the bread over the napkin, trying his best not to leave anything behind. He wiped the crumbs off his face into the napkin and rolled it back up, quickly giving it to his mother to put it back into her pocket. He looked up at her, silently saying thank you as she backed away from the cell with tears in her eyes. She didn't turn from him until she reached the steps and swept out of sight.

In the darkness, surrounded by his loneliness he could only think  _two more days._ He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall behind him. He looked back up at the moon through the window, watching it until his eyes fell closed from exhaustion. Even in the freezing, damp cellar Draco found sleep easy with the comfort of his mother's visit and his belly savoring the bread he was given.

** Day One **

When he woke he had no real sense of time. It frustrated him that the only thing he could gauge the time on was the look of the sky outside through the small piece of glass above him. The hot sun beamed down through the window and Draco grunted, thankful for the sun warming his cold skin. Because of the cold rain through the night, the dungeon had been terribly wet and cold making him shake to create some sort of usably body heat. Every hour he would wake up because of the pain from the cold. His hands were difficult to move; from the mixture of the painful day behind him and the long cold night he endured he could barely move without hissing in pain.  _His back was infected_. While the wet wall seemed like a good idea to wash out his wounds they areas he washed had become puffy and an angry shade of red. When he reached to touch them, sharp pains rippled through him. The same went for the carvings on his arms. They had eventually stopped bleeding, but they were gaping open, the letters making the layers of muscle beneath the skin visible to him.  _It two was infected_. If he didn't have something done about it he would die of infection. Sure, he would make it to the full moon but he would die a slow and painful death, rotting from the inside out from infection. Maybe that is what they meant to do with him—let him die of a bloody infection.

His blond hair had fallen in front of his eyes over the night, no longer combed back after his father and Greyback played their games. It was grimy, covered with dirt and blood. His hair was the least of his worries but he hated the filth that covered him. Regardless of the situation he still found a bit of himself shining through as he examined his nails in disgust. Dirt and grime covered his hands and his finger nails were stained with crusted blood. He had never been so filthy in his life. If Greyback got one thing right, it was that Draco did not like getting dirty. He took pride in his status and always remained clean and dressed presentably. It was simply a part of his character; being dirty and half naked made him feel more out of his element than even his cage.

He tried to get his mind off of his state, but he could find nothing to distract him. There were no sounds this deep in the manor and he found that he kept drifting back to these thoughts. He wasn't sure how long he sat there like that, mulling through his thoughts, trying to get distracted by random, vapid thoughts to keep his mind from his dark future. He knew his mother would not be coming back to see him—at least not before the full moon. She couldn't risk coming to see him so soon. He had at least expected someone to come see him—even taunting him would have been a blessing but he had no such luck. As if the Dark Lord forbidden it he heard not even a whisper from the world beyond his cage door. The day dragged like that locked and alone with nothing to take his thoughts, not even a book. He savored the sun until it began to set in the sky and he was alone in the dark. Clouds covered the night sky, leaving the dungeon completely void of light. He held his hand in front of his face and he could only see his fingers inches from his face. Draco turned as the water began to leak in through the crack in the wall above him. He turned, holding out his tongue and lapping up the water that streamed down. It was cooling and refreshing. He hoped it was enough to save him from dehydration but he seriously doubted it. Holding his hands up to the water he tried to scrub tem clean of blood but the blood was dried and the water stream wasn't strong enough to do any really good. All he really accomplished was pushing the dirt around on his hands and turning it to mud. He scowled, crawling away to the dry side of the cage away from the window and laid his head against the metal bars that separated him from the other cell. As he tried to lull off to sleep the pressure in his bladder and intestines reminded him of body functions he had all but forgotten about. Looking desperately around the room, he wasn't even left a bucket to relieve himself in. Draco pulled himself up from his corner with a growl in disgust walking to the very back of the cell to relieve himself.  _"I am a Malfoy," he thought, "I deserve at least a damned bucket."_

** Day Two **

When Draco woke he knew something had gone terribly wrong. While his wounds the night before had been puffy and red- they were now swelled and a blistering shade of red. While the slow bleeding on his arm had stopped, Draco observed puss leaking from the gashes on his arm. He moved, trying to straighten his slumped posture. His entire back was covered in white hot pain. He bit his lip to keep from groaning. It felt as if he was being whipped all over again. He gasped, reaching back a trembling hand to his lower back. Pulling his hand back, the same puss that oozed out of his arm covered his back. Wincing, he quickly wiped it off on his dirty trousers. This was bad. The inside of his arm would have turned a dark red color and the state of his injuries worried him. He had been interested in going into healing in the past and he faintly remembered reading about infected wounds. This was bad. He needed a healer's attention before it got worse- peeling skin changing color, boils and numbness. The blisters and not being able to move his limb below the injury. If he wasn't healed soon the infection would spread.

He knew they healed prisoners just so they could live long enough to be tortured again but he knew that was hopeless. They were done with him and Greyback wouldn't be giving him any relief anytime soon. The only good news he had managed to gain from the morning was that his vision was slowly returning to normal. It was less blurry than the day before and he thanked silently for that. At least he could see—they hadn't taken everything from him. But they might as well have; not even a bucket to piss in, Draco had been reduced to little more than trash in less than a week.  _How the mighty have fallen._ Greyback had laughed at him then and to tell the truth it hurt worse than any physical injury that had been inflicted. Greyback had damaged his pride with cold truth. He had fallen from a great height—a Malfoy, heir to an inherited that he didn't even know the depths of. His father had moved great impasses out of his way with the mention of his name- could shake the wizarding world with his coins. Draco had learned from his father that his name, his money, was worth more than anything because without it he would be nothing.

Draco realized the truth of those words now—he was nothing. Nothing even worth visiting. He knew that many of the Death Eaters above him fancied him dead. When the Dark Lord had given him to Greyback he didn't mean for Greyback to keep him alive; only taunt him until he felt it appropriate to finish him off. The Dark Lord had essentially encouraged Greyback to play with his food before eating it. The idea twisted Draco's stomach into knots. He doubted that the Dark Lord would be pleased to find him alive in the dungeon—but if he was here he would have no doubt sensed his presence. He must be out of the manor, frequenting one of the other houses members offered up as areas of protection for the Dark Lord. He knew that unless Greyback gained permission from him to keep Draco alive he would suffer the consequences. Especially now that Draco might turn tomorrow night.

The realization that he only had one more day until he might turn hit him hard. Even as he lost his ability to properly breath he wasn't sure why. It shouldn't feel like fresh news to him. It shouldn't be shocking anymore but it was cold reality. A truth so bitter it was hard to grasp it. Not because it was too complicated but because he didn't really want too. It was terrifying thing- the idea of losing all he was to a monster. Would it be like being trapped inside this cage? You can see out into the world outside but no matter how much you beat and struggle to break free it's impossible. Or would it be like passing out? Would he feel pain when he transformed or maybe he would be gone when the moon changed, pulled off to some distant place in his mind and buried there until son up. Honestly, he should have listened more in his classes- he shouldn't have just assumed because he knew werewolves didn't mean he knew everything about them. He had been an arrogant prick in school, using his petty power of his father's name to gain something that mildly resembled respect; probably closer to fear.

In the distance he heard the hard beats of someone stomping down the steps and a rhyming thumping. As the noises got louder it sounded like someone was dragging a body down the steps. Draco cringed bit tried to keep as much composure as he could manage. When the figure appeared in his line of sight he knew it was Greyback, dragging something behind him, clenching by the hood. Greyback said nothing to him at first while he tried of unlock the cage beside Draco. Greyback tossed the body in like a sack of flour and slammed the cage shut. Draco didn't look over to the body just yet; his eyes were trained on Greyback. Finally, the man turned to him leaning against the bars.

"Hungry yet?" He sneered.

Draco sneered back in contempt slurring, "Not at all."

"You know," he laughed, "They say starvation makes the beast uncontrollable, unbelievably angry. It will attack and eat anything that moves. Won't even bother to kill them properly first."

Greyback laughed as he walked away, calling back "It will be delightful."

Draco felt sick. If-if he turned would be like that? How many people would be kill? How many would he eat? He felt sick- as if everything he had everything he had ever eat was about to spill out on the ground. He didn't think he could handle that. Thinking about the blood and flesh. He shuddered and sank his face into his hands. He sobbed, choking on his tears gasping for air. He wasn't sure how long he sat there like that, rocking on his knees as he was lost in fear and grief. It was only when the small whisper from the cage next his that he remembered Greyback brought another prisoner.

"Draco?" the voice rattled and was weak. Draco jerked his head up and crawled closer to the other cage. He reached up to the bars and peered in. Even in the dark of the dungeon the tanned skin, and dark black hair was unmistakable.

"Blaise?" He gasped, "Merlin Blaise what the bloody fuck happened?"

Blaise moved up, leaning his head against the cold bars that Draco clung to for support. "Mother vanished," he wheezed, "Defected. So naturally I wanted to leave too. Tried, but too late. Caught me as I made for the gate. You know what they do."

Draco said nothing else but nodded stiffly. Merlin did he know. "Why did she leave without you?"

Draco seen as Blaise shrugged his shoulders wincing, "Don't know. You know mother. Not one for thinking of others."

"Are they-"

"Giving me to Greyback?" Blaise whispered, "That is what it seems, but I am clueless to why he left me." Blaise paused for a moment before asking, "What did he mean earlier? Is he going to eat us?"

Draco slowly shook his head, looking down at his lap, "He bit me Blaise. Probably turned me."

"Tomorrow night is the full moon," Blaise gasped.

"Yes," Draco said shortly as he crawled back to his corner suddenly exhausted. He leaned his head up against the wall silently as he looked at the words carved in his arms, oozing pus down to his fingertips. The moon rose too quickly for Draco's comfort. As he looked up at the moon he wished he believed there was something out there to pray to. If there was he would pray for one more day before the moon. He just wanted one more day to live.

** Full Moon Rising **

Draco woke with a groan. He had barely been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he was bombarded with horrible nightmares; nightmares of transforming and the awful pain he would endure- looking out the wolf's eyes as he ripped a small girl into pieces. On top of the nightmares the pain was getting worse. Each time he shifted in his sleep his wounds would scream out at his nerve endings, jolting him awake. His entire body ached, and he looked up at the small window shivering. The sky was still dark, but the moon was falling out of sight as it lightened by the pink and orange rays peeking out from the horizon. It was early, and he was exhausted; in constant pain he felt little more than rung out, like someone had taken him and squeezed every bit of will and energy out of him.

Guilt squeezed at his heart as he glanced over to Blaise. He had been so consumed by his own problems that he had completely forgotten to check on Blaise's state. Him and Zabini never really was the best of friends. They had spoken, run around the same group at Hogwarts but Blaise wasn't the type to be a follower and Draco never really bonded with anyone as true friends. They tolerated each other simply because both was close in level of intelligence and could hold decent conversations. He had been an intellectual outlet for Draco and now he laid still on his stomach in the same place Greyback had dropped him.

Draco crawled over to him reaching through the cage to shake him. His shoulder had never moved back into socket and his arm burned when he moved it. "Blaise," he said roughly, "Wake up."

"Get off me Draco."

The simple use of his name softened his ill temper considerably. He hasn't heard his actual name in days; just blood traitor. It was a bit of normalcy that he needed. Maybe that is how he would survive in this place without going insane. Someone speaking his name or a simple gesture of kindness.

"How are you Blaise?" He asked, "What did they do?"

Blaise looked miserably at Draco. After a moment he pulled himself up on his hands and knees, trying to manage a sitting position before he spoke. "Well after they cursed me about twelve times," he spat out blood into the floor, "they branded me a blood traitor." Blaise shrugged his ripped button up shirt. His arm shook so hard when he held it out for Draco to see he had to hold it straight with his other hand. Draco seen that he literally meant _branded_. Across Blaise's arm over his mark was the puffed-up words _blood traitor_ burned into his skin. "Fuck Blaise. Who did that?"

Blaise shrugged his shoulders, "Don't know. They were masked. Wasn't your father. Dark Lord is out and took him and Bellatrix with him."

Draco could see him better now as the sun was fully up. The sight of Blaise made him suck in a breath. Blaise, like himself, had been proud of his looks and kept well groomed. He was covered in blood and grit and the crouch of his pants was wet with what he assumed was piss. But it was his chest that made Draco ache. "Did they-"

"Burn me?" Blaise whispered, "Yeah _. Incendio_. Thought it was all fun. Got my bloody back too. If I get out alive I get out alive I will never get laid."

Draco laughed at this. Trust Blaise to worry about women when he has been taken prisoner. They bantered like this for a while and he silently thanked the cosmos for it. He had begged for one more day. He can't have that, but he was delivered something perhaps better. Normalcy. The pleasure of light conversation and playful banter between the two made him feel normal, the nearest to comfortable he could find himself. Through the blood, dirt, feces and pain Blaise became his friend.

The day wore on like this; leaning against the bars that divided then. Twin scars had bonded them together, like brothers. Being taken prisoner changes you and Draco knew that they had both been changes. Now they were all the other had. No one else in the world that really cared if they turned to beaten corpses. He wasn't able to forget the full moon in the back of his mind, but he felt comfort knowing he wasn't alone anymore.

Blaise reached through the bars and grabbed Draco's hand as the sun began to set in the sky. "I am here Draco. I will be here in the morning as long as God wills it."

Draco smiled whispering, "Thank you. I wish I had your faith."

The sun hung low in the sky and the lower it went the more afraid he became. He knew he only had about an hour now until his fate was decided. Maybe it would be a fluke- maybe he wouldn't turn. But there wasn't a point to dwell on hopeful thoughts. He knew deep down that there was a small chance that he wouldn't turn. So small it was nearly impossible.

When the sun was barely visible in the sky panic began to spread across him. Blaise called out to him, "Draco. Remember no matter what happens tonight nothing is on you okay? It's not you."

Draco looked at his friend and swallows hard. He wished he couldn't believe that.

The stomping of footsteps and hooting laughed caught both boy’s attention. Draco pulled himself up to his feet, but Blaise could only manage to sit up straight against the wall. Soon he saw Greyback and a group of other men- he made out Nott standing in the back and he unlocked Draco's cage. Greyback smiled grabbing him by his mangled arm and pulled him roughly out of the cage. Draco felt uncomfortable out of the cage. Inside he was safe, and everyone would be protected from him. He had expected this- for them to let him loose. The only two werewolves out of the bunch was Greyback and himself. The others were simply here to enjoy the show.

"Get him," Greyback laughed.

Draco looked over confused as another member of the group- a large scruffy man named Blaine, began to unlock Blaise's cage. When Blaine dragged Blaise out of the cage Blaise looked up knowingly at Draco and he felt like he had been kicked in the chest. He struggled against Greyback's grip as he panicked.

"No!" He screamed, "Put him back! Put him back!"

All he could think was  _no._   _Not Blaise. Not this way. That had been why they kept Blaise alive. I can't do that- I can't live with that. They couldn't do this._

"What's wrong Blood Traitor?" Greyback laughed. He turns to him, pulling him dangerously close before he pulled him u the steps, "Don't like your dinner?"

Draco was pulled along in a daze after that. He couldn't think of anything but those words: _your dinner_. He was hungry. It gnawed at his stomach driving him mad. But he didn't want to eat now. Didn't want to wake up in the morning full. He couldn't live with what that would mean.

Greyback and thrown him into his backyard. What once was a beautiful garden now looked like a caged off arena. Greyback stood on one side of the yard near the open field grinning while Draco was thrown into a fenced off area with Blaise. Draco let out a loud sob and fell to his knees ripping out the grass beneath them. It was a matter of minutes now and he would turn and kill the only friend he had now. He would eat the only person who cared.

"Draco!" Blaise yelled out forcing him to look at him, "It's not you man! It's not on you okay? This isn't your fault! Never forget that!"

Draco nodded and at last as the sun disappeared and the moon slipped above the horizon he yelled, "I'm sorry!"

The last thing Draco could here before the pain began we're two words, "It's okay."

He felt his bones rip from his muscles; as if he was being literally ripped apart and reshaped. He felt something stab through his skin all over and his feet ripped outward, elongated with his nails ripping out into sharp claws. He couldn't think about it- he couldn't think anything through the pain. The closer he got to full transformation the cloudier his vision became. He last thing he could see was Blaise on his knees crying before it all went black.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had Bellatrix order Malfoy to sexually assault Hermione. While I think it would have a greater effect on the audience, it is unlikely, given her blood status, that Bellatrix would suggest that as torture. Please let me know what you think! Reviews make my day! I will try my best to update this story weekly-- of not more.


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